The Worst Fic Ever Written
by fidefortitude
Summary: Once upon a time I promised a bad quality fic to everyone who reblogged a post on tumblr. On the advent of 210K reblogs of that post, I have promised in turn a 210K word fic of the poorest quality I can manage. So here it is. I can promise ducks, long rants about architecture, and Kevin Tran falling in love with a Dalek. Nothing has been edited. Everything is bad. Good luck.
1. Chapter 1

It was a beautiful day in New York. The day couldn't have been more beautiful if it had been designed by an artist. Like a Monet painting, except imagine less water lilies and more blood, explosions and terrified screaming.

It wasn't a good day, let's not make that mistake. Just a really nice one. The skies were clear and the sun was shining and everything. It's just that there was a lot of death and destruction going on.

Monet would probably have been on crack if he had painted this scene. Especially because of the spaceships.

I forgot to mention that bit. There were spaceships. They were shooting people. A lot of people were screaming.

Except for the ducks in Central Park- they weren't screaming. In fact, they were fairly sedate. Ducks have no capacity to understand the ramifications of an alien invasion, and as such they were having quite a nice day. That one douchebag mallard had gone off to another pond in Flushing Meadows, and the bread dropped by fleeing New York citizens was delicious.

But this is not a story about the ducks in Central Park, although I assure you they are fascinating, and their family politics rival Game of Thrones in terms of sheer duck cruelty towards each other. In fact, their family politics mirrored Game of Thrones almost exactly. This was not chance- a passing demonic being had gotten bored one day and reprogrammed the ducks to behave exactly like their fictional counterparts. Sometimes demons misuse their abilities. Especially the nerd ones. Fucking nerd demons.

In any case. There was an alien invasion, which usually happens during a day of terrible weather- when all hope is lost because of the rather awful thunderstorm going on, and the added stress of an alien invasion just tips the citizens over the edge and makes them perfect for ruling over. Today, however, the Dalek Emperor had not checked the weather forecast for New York.

"YOU TOLD ME IT WOULD BE OV-ER-CAST!" The Dalek Emperor roared mechanically at his underlings. They bleeped and blooped nervously under their giant leader's gaze. "THIS IS NOT IN-VA-SION WEATHER!"

For a few seconds, there was silence in the confines of the vaulted-ceiling spaceship. Why did the spaceship have vaulted ceilings? Because I'm telling this story and in this story Daleks are surprisingly adept architects with a flair for Baroque-style spaceships. Don't like it? Then go home and tell your own bloody story about Dalek spaceships where they prefer Romanesque architecture. My Daleks are just more cultured than yours.

Now. There was silence in the artfully designed spaceship. For a few seconds, everyone processed their answers in silence. Then a single Dalek trundled forward to address its Emperor.

"THE WEATHER IS NOT IMP-OR-TANT TO OUR INVASION. WE HAD A GREAT TIME AND WE SUB-JUD-GATED A RACE, AND THAT IS MOST IMP-OR-TANT."

Once more, silence reigned in the architecturally challenging Dalek mothership. The Emperor looked down at the Dalek with as much disdain as a giant octopus-monster could manifest in its expression.

"_NOT IMP-OR-TANT?!_" It roared in the exact same tone and decibel level it had been using before. "_WE HAVE AN AUDIT ON SUN-DAY! IF WE DO NOT CARRY OUT THIS INVASION WITH THE METH-OD WE HAVE BEEN TOLD TO USE BY SENIOR MAN-AGE-MENT, WE WILL NOT PASS WITH AN 'OUTSTANDING' MERIT AND WILL BE RE-MOVED OF OUR PARKING PRI-VIL-EGES! WE'LL HAVE TO GIVE THEM TO THOSE DOUCHE-BAGS IN QUAD-RANT GAMMA!"_

There was some awkward shuffle-rolling and whirring across the spaceship. Nobody wanted to give their parking spaces to the Quadrant Gamma douchebags- they all wore sunglasses even though Daleks don't have the necessary eyes to wear them.

"WHAT IS YOUR NAME, DA-LEK?" The Emperor continued to yell in the exact same way as it always did, glaring down at its tiny subordinate.

"I AM DA-LEK JAST, OF THE CULT OF SKARO." Dalek Jast replied with a tremor in his voice.

"AREN'T YOU DEAD?" The Emperor asked.

"IT WAS EX-PED-IENT TO THE PLOT TO BRING ME BACK," Jast explained.

"DA-LEK JAST," The Emperor proclaimed, "AS PUN-ISH-MENT FOR QUESTIONING MY METHODS AND POT-EN-TIALLY COSTING US OUR PARKING SPACES, YOU ARE BANISHED TO EARTH, TO RULE OUR NEW SUB-JECTS IN OUR STEAD."

"NO!" Jast wailed. "I JUST PAID OFF MY MORTGAGE ON SKARO!"

But it was too late- the Dalek Emperor teleported Dalek Jast onto the earth below, and the Dalek ships retreated into the starry skies.

That's when he saw them.

They were surrounding a poorly designed vehicle- something that had clearly been created in an era where engine size was valued over a streamlined design and actual _taste, _for god's sake, it looked like someone had stapled together a couple sheets of scrap metal around a motor. There were four of them- one tall, with glorious moose hair, one shorter, with ridiculous sticky-up hair, one shorter still with a big stupid trenchcoat on, and one-

Jast did a double-take with his eyestalk at the last one. The shortest of the group, with the darkest, most beautiful hair, and the most glorious Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-Shirt. Also a tablet in a papoose around his shoulders, but Jast wouldn't judge.

He was perfect.

"HUMANS!" He yelled to the group- they straightened their backs and turned to face him.

"Wow, dude," the one with the ridiculous sticky-up hair said, "Do you think, dude, we should shoot it, dude?"

The tallest flicked his fabulous moosey tresses back. "Fine, but if the recoil musses up my hair, we stop."

And so, three of them began to shoot Jast, which naturally did nothing. But the shortest did not. The perfect one did not. Jast began to advance on them.

"I CHOOSE YOU," Jast called to his soulmate. The one in the dumb trenchcoat stopped shooting and tilted his head.

"Me?" He asked in a ridiculous low voice. Honestly, nobody has that low a voice. He puts it on. He must do.

"NO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT," Jast replied. "YOU."

"Me, dude?" Asked the dumb sticky-up hair guy in a fairly stupidly low voice.

"NO, FUCK OFF AND USE LESS HAIR GEL. YOU."

"Me-" started the moose guy.

"WE'VE EXHAUSTED THIS JOKE, SHUT THE HELL UP."

The perfect one stood in the wind just right to have a succession of cherry blossom petals blow past him and ruffle his perfect hair.

"Me?" He asked, adjusting his papoose so his perfect tablet was more on show.

"YOU. YOU ARE GOING TO BE MINE. TAKE ME TO YOUR HOME, PATHETIC PERFECT MEATBAG."

And so Kevin Tran (for that was what he was called) strapped Dalek Jast to the top of the poorly designed car and they went to their new home.

But the adventure had only just begun.

* * *

Sam stared at him for a second.

"DEAN!" He yelled. "YOUR TURN TO BE ON INTERROGATION DUTY!"

"What? Didn't like the story?" Crowley asked, a sly smile on his face as he was handed back his crayon and paper across the devil's trap.

Kevin looked only confused. "Why was I going out with a Dalek?"

Sam looked back at Crowley. "And what was with your obsession with my hair?"

Castiel looked thoughtfully into the distance. "Do ducks really have Machiavellian family relations?"

Crowley shrugged. "That's the beauty of my writing- you can question it yourself, long after it's finished."

"Oh, we'll be questioning it alright," Sam answered. "Question why it's so shit."

"That's it, Dean will be getting the favourable point of view next chapter, Moose," Crowley replied, pointing at him furiously with his favourite blue crayon.

Sam just gave him a long stare and walked out. Kevin did the same.

Castiel paused before he walked out and turned to Crowley.

"Daleks would prefer Romanesque architecture. It's more practical."

And with that, he walked out.

Crowley pouted and sat down to write more of his masterpiece.

"Nobody understands my genius," he mumbled as he began writing out his magnum opus in crayon.

* * *

_Dear god. I am so sorry. This isn't even funny. Why is Crowley writing this? Why are Daleks so enamoured of the Baroque style despite its overly intricate style that demands a higher price for manufacture? What conditioner does Sam use? _

_All these questions probably won't be answered. I don't even know what's happening. Next chapter will probably be as bad as this._

_I'm not even drunk._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: One time I ate a whole cantaloupe for breakfast

* * *

So there they were, all sitting in the bunker- except for Dalek Jast, who had no legs so couldn't sit down. There was Rocky Winchester, whose hair was considerably less dumb than in the previous chapter, and Bullwinkle Winchester, whose moosey hair had suddenly become limp and in desperate need of leave-in conditioner. Also his face was stupid. That's what I said. Sam Winchester has a stupid face. This is an objective point of view, so everything said in this point of view is true. Sam's face is really fucking dumb.

Opposite them was Kevin Tran, who was cradling his tablet gently against his body, and Dalek Jast, who was flailing on the inside (quite literally) but still on the outside- like a caramel-filled chocolate being heated to boiling point.

And at the head of the table was Flappy McTrenchcoat, squinting at everyone like he should've gone to Specsavers. Flappy regarded Dalek Jast with quiet curiosity, somewhat ruined by his continual humming under his breath and the occasional 'hm' that he would breathe out. After an hour or two of listening to Castiel maintain a single 'hm' without stopping for breath, the moosier and less handsome of the two brothers spoke up.

"So who are you and why do you want to be in a relationship with Kevin? I should really get rid of my huge sideburns because they're dumb, like my face." Moose asked with pure honesty in his voice.

"Yeah, dude, like, dude, what's the skinny?" Squirrel questioned, leaning back in his chair.

"I AM DALEK JAST OF THE PLANET SKARO. I HAVE COME TO BE WITH KEVIN BECAUSE HE IS PERFECT." Jast looked at his beloved as Kevin continued to gently croon to his tablet. "AND HIS HAIR SMELLS LIKE COCONUTS."

"He must be borrowing my conditioner," Moose mused, rubbing a thumb pensively over his dumb face.

"THEN THIS IS NOT A GOOD THING, BECAUSE YOUR CONDITIONER IS STUPID AND YOU'RE STUPID."

Sam began to cry. Flappy McTrenchcoat slapped him.

"So, dude," Squirrel continued, ignoring his brother's wails of pain and upset, "Are you gonna be staying here with Kevin? Like- _with Kevin in his bed_ here with Kevin?"

"WHY DO YOU CARE?" Dalek Jast asked him.

Squirrel shrugged. "I just want to know, y'know dude? Like, you sound like a male kinda dalek, and Kevin's a male kinda male, and…"

Dalek Jast stared at him. Well, he always stared, because Daleks don't have any eyelids, but this time it was clear that if Jast had eyelids, he would not be using them.

"WHY DO YOU CARE?" Jast asked again, but with a fresh questioning tone to his voice, which was strange as his voice sounded exactly the same as before.

The Winchester shrugged and leaned back. "Well, if you two are going to be together, in Kevin's bed together, you two… male beings… that means male sexytimes?"

Dalek Jast sounded unimpressed. "YES." Kevin spluttered on a drink he had not previously had but is now important to this sentence for him to have.

Dean leaned in, glancing conspiratorially at Flappy McTrenchcoat before continuing. "What's that like?"

This time, both Flappy and his still-sobbing brother slapped Dean. Dean began to cry as well.

Jast looked at the two sobbing humans and the embarrassed-looking angel. "IS THERE ANYONE COOL I CAN SPEAK TO?" Jast questioned.

Then some badass music started playing and the lighting turned low as a spotlight roamed the room, finally settling on a set of double doors in the bunker. They swung open, slamming against the walls, as a lone and cool figure emerged from them.

"Hello, boys," A suave and beautiful voice said. Everyone who was not previously crying now started crying from the beauty of the figure's voice and his general badassery.

"WHO ARE YOU?" Jast asked through tears it previously had not been able to produce.

"I'm Crowley," the beautiful voice continued. Crowley emerged from the spotlight and the lights came back up again, a theatrical device proclaiming the return to normality in the scene- if normality can ever truly be achieved with such beauty and grace in the room. Which it can't. Crowley took off his cool sunglasses and regarded Dalek Jast. "King of Hell and also love."

"WOW. IF I WAS NOT GOING OUT WITH KEVIN I WOULD SO TAP THAT." Dalek Jast replied.

"We would all tap that." Everyone chorused in tandem through their tears. "He's so cool and beautiful."

"Now, now," Crowley said modestly, accepting the kisses on the hand that each member of the room bestowed upon him, "You give me far too little credit."

* * *

"No, stop there, man!"

Crowley looked up from his latest chapter. "What?"

Dean looked disgusted. "Where are you even going with this? All you're doing is writing Sam and I as crying kids and you as- some sort of weirdo romantic hero! There's no plot! There's no actual story! Kevin hasn't even said anything and you said he was the main character!"

Crowley was silent as he regarded his neatly printed crayon lettering. Then he looked up at Dean.

"I can make Sam cry more, I suppose."

Dean stared at Crowley, pursing his lips.

"You didn't listen to anything I just said, did you."

"Plot, crying, romantic, etcetera," Crowley replied, picking up his crayon and twirling it in his fingers. "Shut up and let the master work."

"And spell his letters out loud," Dean groaned, wondering when his interrogation shift was over.

* * *

"But enough of that," Crowley said, slapping everyone until they ceased kissing him and went back to their seats, "What's going on?"

"I AM DALEK JAST. I HAVE COME TO RULE THIS EARTH AND WHILE DOING SO I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE." Jast swivelled his head 180 degrees to stare at his beloved. Kevin continued to stroke his tablet where it was tied to his chest with ropes. He looked up.

"I'm his boyfriend!" And with that, Kevin looked down again and began offering a baby bottle to the tablet.

Sam whimpered from his seat. "Nobody wants to be my boyfriend."

"That's because you have stupid hair and a stupid face," Crowley informed him. Sam began to cry even louder.

Dean grinned. "Nobody wants to be my boyfriend, 'cause I'm super hetero straight."

Crowley looked at him archly. "You're the exact opposite of straight, Dean."

Dean shook his head rapidly enough to look like a dog trying to get dry. "Nuh-uh, 'cause Dean Winchester loves the ladies!"

"And the Cas." Crowley pointed out like a badass with cool sunglasses.

"What?"

Crowley stared at Dean. "You're literally the most lovesick person on this planet for Castiel."

Flappy McTrenchcoat nodded emphatically while Squirrel shook his head just as emphatically. "Dean Winchester loves the ladies!" Dean yelled, tears coming to his eyes.

Crowley took off his sunglasses and regarded Dean carefully. "Then kiss Castiel."

"What?" Both of them said, somewhat hopefully on Flappy's part.

"Kiss Castiel, and see what happens from there."

'Elephant Love Medley' began to play in the background. Dean and Castiel looked at each other.

"Dean Winchester loves the ladies," Dean mumbled as the two of them began to lean into each other.

The music reached a crescendo (Sam was fast-forwarding the tape to the end) as their lips became closer, and then-

* * *

"Woah, woah, woah, what the hell?"

Crowley looked up again from his writing, groaning dramatically. "What now?"

Dean gave Crowley the most disgusted look it was possible for him to give. "Why are you making Cas and I kiss?!"

Crowley shrugged. "If I can't make you do it in reality, I may as well speed along matters in fiction."

"Can't- but- Cas and I are just _friends, _Crowley!"

Crowley snorted. "Sure, sure, if you want to believe that."

"Believe that?! I think I know my relationship with Cas better than you do, you douche!"

Crowley swivelled in his chair to face away from Dean and continued to print out his chapter, smirking. Dean stood from the other side of the desk.

"That's it." He stalked across the room and snatched the crayon from Crowley's hands. "You lost your crayon privileges."

Crowley made a high-pitched noise and tried to get up from the chair, making grabby hands at the crayon. Dean held it up higher than Crowley can reach.

"No. You don't get it back until you promise to stop writing about me and Cas like that."

"But Deaaaaan!"

"And you lose your Kevin privileges too!" Dean called as he left the room.

"That's it, Sam gets the favourable image next chapter!"

"You took off your sunglasses twice in the chapter!" Dean yelled, slamming the door behind him and turning off the lights in Crowley's room.

Crowley paused, and looked down at the page in his hands, scanning it for a second.

"Know-it-all bitch," Crowley huffed, collecting together his writing reverently in the darkness.

* * *

A/N: I lied before. I've never eaten an entire cantaloupe for breakfast. I don't even know what one is. I just wrote four pages of this god-awful drivel someone please help me


End file.
